Live.

Beewise we gather our wax all year

From bramble sorrow and thistle tear, 

Briar sadness and spine of pain:

Bitter flowers that bloom again! 

But deadest winter brings a day

When thorns have lovelier bloom than May; 

When candles are fashioned and lit by One

Who fashioned her wax to be lit by the Sun, 

Then watched her Candle burn: the price

Of sin-consuming sacrifice. 

Today she shares the Flame anew

To make us priest-and-victim too.

And Mary-mothered flames and Flame

Live their sacrificial Name.

John D. Boyd